I jolt awake. Sweat sticks my sheets. Fan whirs lazily against the humid night. Cape Verde heat. Always this. Midnight generator off. Just stars and moon filtering through the mosquito net.
Choices: radio, jerk off, piss, shower. Shower wins. Water lukewarm, soothing my copper skin. No towel. Never. Naked, I slip out to the wooden terrace overlooking the beach. Bare feet pad soft on planks. Creak. Crickets chirp. Waves hush rhythmically. Magical. Intimate. Home for three months now. Escaped Lyon gloom for this.
The Contact
Paolo appears. Silent as always. Leans on railing beside me. No words needed. We’ve known forever. Foundling kid Dad scooped up. Dearer than a brother. Torso bare, red swim shorts I brought from France.
“Can’t sleep?” he whispers.
“Too hot,” I murmur, yawning.
His hand on my neck. “Massage?”
Bliss. Fingers knead. Nails scratch down my spine. Left. Right. Purr like a cat. Waves mask our breaths.
“My turn,” I say. He startles. Never before. But he obeys. Always. Faces railing. I work his neck, back. Under arms—he twitches, ticklish. Hands roam pecs. Nipples hard like a girl’s. We’ve shared pussy before. That mulatto slut taught us filthy tricks.
Dizzy rush. Unknown ground. Caress chest endless. “Like it? Stop?”
“No. Don’t stop,” he breathes. Eyes on moonlit foam.
Back to back. Right hand slips under shorts, cups ass cheek. Left checks front. Cock throbs hard. Mine aches too. First time a guy’s touch stirs me like this.
“This wrong, Paolo?”
He turns slow. Peels my hands off. Drops shorts. Wood creaks faint. His left hand wraps my shaft. Electric jolt. “Not wrong if it feels good.”
Explores my chest. Goosebumps. Nipples spark. His rasta hair glows blond from sun. Eyes laugh in dark.
“Ever liked a boy?”
Lips hit my nipple. Burn. Mouth dry. His cock nudges my hip.
“Never.”
Other nipple. Body presses. “What’s happening?”
“Dunno. Feels right. Want you.”
Hand pumps my cock. Paralysis of pleasure. Eyes open—he’s knelt. Hands knead ass. Mouth engulfs me. Slurps wet. Muffled groans escape. Better than anything. Deeper he takes. Guttural cries build. Waves crash louder to cover. Cum erupts. Scream rips silent. Push him. We tumble tangled on wood. Creaks protest. He laps till I soften.
The Indiscretion
We rise. Looks exchange questions. House sleeps. Domestics, Dad—oblivious.
“Sleep with me.”
Familiar. Slip inside. Door whispers shut. Moon sliver under door. Bed creaks under us. Mosquito net veils.
Face him. Caress cheek. Real?
“Don’t get it.”
“New?”
“Yeah.”
“Let go. Like always.”
Turn away. He spoons perfect. Lips lick spine. Nips ass cheeks. Bites harder—wake me. Tongue flames my hole. Endless. Divine. Hand grips cock—harder now. Moan stifled.
Finger probes. Gentle, then circles deep. Gasp.
He mounts. Shoulders pin. Thighs clamp. Cock teases hole. Neck bites. “Want in.”
“Yes.”
Guide him. Push resisted—hurts first. Tiny thrusts. Pre-cum slicks. Pain fades.
“Deeper.”
Hands grip cheeks brutal. Plunges full. Slow build to pound. Cry out. His grunts mix. House silent—pray no creaks wake them.
He floods me. Scream peaks. Blackout.
Wake to his gaze. Half-smile. Distant eyes.
“Swim.”